The Wedding Shawl (21 page)

“And it looks like that’s what you shall get,” Nell said, pulling into the parking lot adjacent to the Artist’s Palate deck. At the back end of the lot, just at the edge of the deck, a group of shirtless guys shot baskets in the hoop Hank had set up.

Although it was too early for lunch, the deck was also bustling with activity, artists taking a break from the galleries that surrounded the bar and grill, a few tourists here and there, some summer students with computers balanced on their legs. Danny sat at a table beneath a tall oak tree, its branches a canopy over the table and corner of the deck.

Nell liked the Artist’s Palate best in the earlier part of the day, before the bands, twenty-seven kinds of beer, and stomping feet took over.

Danny didn’t look up as they walked by, his fingers moving rapidly over the keys, so they left him in the grips of his creativity and found another shaded table not far away.

Merry Jackson appeared at the table in an instant, wiping her hands on a white apron tied around her tiny waist. Without a word, she pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m so glad to see you guys.”

Nell had called her earlier on her cell, wondering if she’d have a few minutes to talk.

“Are you working, dear?” Birdie asked. “We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Merry’s laugh was light and sparkling, just like the person she was. “Now, Birdie, I ask you. What’s the boss man going to do, fire me?”

“Not a chance of that,” Birdie said, looking over at Hank Jackson. He stood wiping glasses at the outdoor bar, his eyes focused on his young wife.

“He couldn’t do this without me,” Merry said, waving the tips of her fingers at her husband. “I’m the real force behind this place, you know.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me one bit,” Nell said.

“But before we get deep in talk, I should bring you something. My treat.” She sprung up and disappeared inside.

In the time it took them to put bags beneath the table and for Birdie to pull out the cashmere sweater she was working on, Merry had returned with a tray of iced tea, a bowl of fresh grapes and strawberries, and a basket of warm bran muffins. “I’m trying to get people around here to eat better. At least in the morning. Some of these artists, they’d eat Fritos for breakfast if I let them.”

“You won’t abandon the fried calamari, though, will you?” Cass asked, her voice dripping with feigned anguish.

“Not in your wildest nightmares.” Merry laughed. “There’s definitely a limit to this healthy stuff. Now, where were we?” She put her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. “Pete was over here a minute ago to drop off some music, and he says that Tiffany’s sister is in town. I didn’t even know she had a sister. What’s that about? Why do the police want to talk to her?”

“I think it’s just routine. And she’s the only family Tiffany had. Someone had to gather her things.”

“But Pete says she’s defaming Andy. This has to stop, Nell.” Her brows drew together and her voice rose over the tops of customers until Hank looked over, concerned.

He strode over and began massaging her shoulders with his large, sure hands. “You okay, babe?”

Nell looked up at Hank and smiled. Thick, dark hair fell over his forehead as he looked down on Merry.

“I’m fine, Hank,” Merry said, wiggling out of his massage. “Just upset about this whole thing. I want Andy back like he was before, safe and sound, a drummer without stress.”

“New developments?” Hank looked over at Birdie, then Nell and Cass. His eyes mirrored his voice—concern for Merry. If she was worried about something, he’d take it on as well.

“Not really, not about solving the crime, anyway. Tiffany’s sister, Sheila, is in town,” Nell said. “The police contacted her and suggested she come to gather Tiffany’s belongings.”

“I didn’t know there was a sister,” he said, and then his face slowly registered recognition. “Oh, sure. I remember. She ran away when she was just a kid. Tall, like her sister.”

“And now she’s back spewing out bad things about Andy,” Merry said.

“What would she know about Andy? She hasn’t lived here in ages,” Hank said. “Does she even know him?”

Merry shrugged. “Who knows?”

“She won’t be here long,” Nell said. “We’re going to help her box up Tiff’s things at the boardinghouse tomorrow. There’s also some paperwork she has to take care of. But she’s anxious to leave. This is difficult for her.”

Hank nodded, then looked up as a waiter whistled at him through his fingers, waving him over to solve a leaky-keg problem. He said a reluctant good-bye, then was gone across the deck, the answer to his question going by the wayside.

“He’d rather stay with us and listen to gossip,” Merry said.

“He’s one handsome dude,” Cass said. “I always forget that, because he’s, well …”

“Old?” Merry giggled. “Well, not that much older than you, Cass. You’re getting up there.”

“He’s
way
older,” Cass insisted.

“Yeah, I guess,” Merry said, looking over at Hank. “He’s maybe forty-five. I don’t much keep track of things like that. I liked that he was older when I married him, but I’d like to put a lid on it now. The older he gets, the more he seems to worry about things.” She glanced over at her husband again, and then brought her attention back to the group. “Enough about that. It’s Andy we need to talk about.”

“That’s why we came by,” Cass said. “Well, that and these muffins.” She took a bite out of one. “They’re actually good.”

“Another convert.” Merry clapped her hands.

“Pete’s talked a little about Andy and Tiffany and their relationship,” Nell said, easing into the topic they wanted to talk about. “But sometimes women see things men don’t.”

“And sometimes see things differently,” Merry added. “I get it. Pete and I have talked until we’re goofy about the last couple weeks, trying to figure out what went on.”

“Tiffany had been hanging around for a while, right?” Cass said.

Merry nodded. “Like I said, at first we thought she was just a groupie. She started coming to our gigs when she came back from that beauty school, all spiffed up. That was a while ago. She looked different, prettier, had a little more confidence than when she was in high school. Next thing we knew, she was hanging around
after
the gigs, that kind of thing. She’d make us brownies and cupcakes, brought pizza, offered to help carry things. She was
too
nice, if you know what I mean? But how can you accuse someone of being too nice?

“So we tried to shrug it off. Just let it be. If we were performing in a place that served food, like the Gull, she’d sometimes order a sandwich for Andy, then invite him over to her table at the break to eat it. To be nice, you know?”

“What did Andy do?”

Merry shrugged. “At first, not much. She kept playing up the high school thing, but Andy said they only hung out back then because of Harmony. Tiffany was nice enough, but Harmony was the reason they even knew each other. I don’t remember much about that. Andy was in the band; I was a cheerleader. According to high school social rules, we didn’t mix much. They were kind of their own little clique, I guess. I didn’t really know Andy until we got the band together.” Her brow furrowed for a minute as if she was realizing something important for the first time. “What a shame. Maybe he could have been
my
boyfriend instead of that quarterback I dated. He would have been a better choice.”

Cass laughed. “But you said Tiffany sometimes went out with you afterward, right?” She slathered another muffin with honey butter.

“Sometimes. We’d go out after a gig just to unwind. And sometimes she’d just be there, where we were going, like the Gull or the Franklin. Like it was a coincidence. She’d act surprised to see us.”

“Do you think she followed you?”

“I don’t know. But it seemed odd, especially because she was usually alone. Would you do that, Cass? Go to a bar all alone?”

“Guys do it all the time.”

Merry fluttered a hand in her face to shush her. “The answer is, ‘No, you probably wouldn’t.’ Whether it’s fair or not, we just don’t usually do that. But shy Tiffany did. Anyway, if what she was after was Andy, it worked. After a while they’d actually make plans together, and he’d go off with her alone. But then, well, the last few weeks, I don’t know, Andy started to pull back. Didn’t go with us if she was there, always politely, but he told Pete he didn’t want Tiffany to get the wrong idea. He’d maybe given her conflicting messages. I think the poor guy felt a little smothered. She was too available; you know what I mean?”

“Do you think Tiffany had built more into the relationship than was really there?” Nell asked.

“I think so. At least that’s my take on it. But the more Andy pulled back, the more she seemed to press him. It was uncomfortable for Andy. Hank thinks I overreact. He says Tiffany was just a shy girl with a crush.”

“You and Hank both talked to her that night the Fractured Fish played here at the Palate. Did she say what was wrong? She was distraught,” Birdie said.

Merry’s eyes got big. “That was strange. She was upset; you’re right. I don’t know exactly what she said to Andy, but it made him mad—something he rarely got. When we got ready to play again, Pete and I could see how upset he was. He muttered something about underestimating Tiffany.”

“Do you know what he meant?”

“No. But he’s such a nice guy that I don’t think he realized Tiffany’s expectations. They were having a good time together; at least I think that was his take on it. Maybe, when she laid it on him, he realized that she saw it as a serious relationship.”

“So what did Tiffany say to him to make him mad? She looked so sad.” Nell remembered the tears—and the look of yearning.

“She didn’t tell me much, just that she knew Andy must have feelings for her and she didn’t understand his anger. They had a bond, she said, that no one else could possibly understand. A secret that they shared. And then she started to cry.”

“And that’s it?” Birdie said.

“Just about. Except for something Tanya told me—you know that gossipy girl from the salon? She told me later that night—I think maybe she’d had too much to drink—that she asked Tiffany why she left work early that day. Tanya was mad because it meant extra work for her. As she walked over, she saw Andy standing there, so she waited a minute for him to leave. She heard Tiffany say something about a secret, which I suppose made Tanya step closer. And then she heard the word ‘baby.’ That was enough for her, she said, so she took off.”

“Baby …” Cass repeated the word slowly, as if it were about to explode. “Geesh.”

Nell frowned, and Merry stepped in. “Like I said, Tanya was tipsy. And who knows what she really heard.”

But it could certainly upset Andy.
Nell pushed the thought away. Gossip like that could cause serious problems. But there would have been an autopsy report… . Her thoughts bounced around as she tried to find significance in Merry’s comment. She asked, “So you think Tiffany was simply sad that Andy was pulling away?”

Merry thought about the question, then sat up straight, her small breasts straining against a well-fitted T-shirt. “You want my honest opinion? I think she was lovesick. Plain old lovesick. She wanted Andy, plain and simple. Wanted him to be her husband.”

“What did Hank say?” Birdie asked. “He seemed to have calmed her down.”

“Hank’s good at that. I give him lots of practice.” Merry laughed. “But that’s why I sent him over. I thought Tiffany would talk to him. He talked to her for a while, but when I asked him about it later, he said she was just PMSing or something. Emotional, he said. She needed someone to nod and tell her everything would be okay, so that’s what he did.”

“I guess we all need a bit of that now and then,” Birdie said.

“Well, I sure do,” Merry said with a grin. “And now I’d better get back to work before the handsome beast bellows at me.”

“Excellent alliteration,” Birdie said as Merry sailed away.

Beside her, Cass half stood, waving a muffin in the air at a tall figure coming their way. Danny Brandley walked up, his computer backpack slung over one shoulder, and a five o’clock shadow darkening his chin.

“How’s the book coming?” Cass asked, then grimaced and ducked, waiting for Danny’s groan.

“Not a good question to ask a writer pushing a deadline,” he explained to Nell and Birdie. “And the vixen knows it, which is why she asked.” He took the muffin from Cass’ fingers and bit into it. “This is good,” he said. He stared at it. “It’s not fried. Hank is losing his touch.”

Nell laughed. “You and Ben. If it’s good for him, he’s always a tad suspicious.”

“So what brings you amazing women to my turf?”

“Last I heard, this was a public restaurant, Brandley,” Cass said.

He took off her baseball hat and mussed her hair, then straddled the bench next to her. “I saw you talking to Merry. It looked too serious for the Palate deck, so I stayed away. What’s up?”

“It’s Tiffany Ciccolo’s death,” Birdie said.

Nell noticed how artfully they avoided the word “murder.” It was too heavy. Too awful when said aloud.

“We’re just trying to make sense out of some things. Andy is on the hot seat, and we’d like to remove him from that uncomfortable position as soon as possible.” Cass leaned into his chest.

“Yeah, it’s tough. Andy is a good guy.” Danny reached over and fingered the rich caramel-colored sweater Birdie was working on. It would be a thank-you to Mary Pisano for her kindnesses in taking care of the Chambers wedding party. “Soon as I master the purl stitch, will you show me how to make one of these, Birdie? I mean a little bigger maybe. Different style. But I’m ready to move on, I think.”

Birdie laughed and gave his hand a pat. “That can be arranged.”

A sudden thought came to Nell, far removed from sweaters and Danny’s challenge with the purl stitch. She dove in.

“Danny, when you were preparing your talk for the knitting book club, did you come across any references to Harmony’s life, things other than the usual? Were there any ‘human interest’ kinds of stories that might shed some light on who she was and her connection to Andy and Tiffany?”